


Candles

by ceterisparibus



Series: Ella [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Companion Piece, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:32:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Christmas for our characters in the Ella continuity!





	1. Hold Out Your Candle

Maggie

Decorating the church basement wasn’t a priority. She’d spent the last three days supervising other sisters as they filled the sanctuary with lights, garlands, wreaths, ornaments, and three decorated Christmas trees. But some patrons, on occasion, liked to come to the basement to find somewhere quiet, and for her own part, she didn’t mind feeling a bit more festive as she was doing laundry. So she dragged a box of leftover decorations, mostly the older or discordant pieces that had once belonged to a set, and got to work.

And yes, she was also motivated by the thought that her son tended to be less formal (skittish) here in the basement than in the rest of the church. Here, after all, he’d been at one of his lowest points. And they’d both seen it; no need to stand on ceremony anymore. So if Matthew was going to spend time in this basement, she wanted it to be special.

She teetered on the weathered ladder, feeling blindly with her fingers for the nail that someone had driven into the wall above her head years ago. It had held a painting at one point, and now she thought it would be perfect for the string of poinsettias she was holding.

Then she heard high-pitched, heavy panting and the scrabble of paws on stone. Bracing herself against the wall, she turned to see Matthew descending the stairs, struggling to keep his new puppy under control as she tugged at her leash.

“She’s ruined your element of surprise,” Maggie commented.

“Yeah, I still have to train her to be quieter.”

Rolling her eyes, Maggie turned back to her work. “Good luck with that.”

“Need some help?” He tied the dog’s leash around a pillar and went to stand beside the ladder, steadying it. “Sister Hannah told me I could find you down here. I don’t remember the church ever decorating the basement before.”

“Every place of worship deserves decoration.”

He smirked. “Even the laundry room?”

“Doing laundry can be an act of worship, you know.”

“ _That’s_ convenient. I get the hint.” Propping his cane in the corner, he turned towards the closet.

She dismounted the ladder. “The laundry’s fine. If you want to help, you can help me with the decorations.”

His nose wrinkled. “I think I’d rather do the laundry. All this…” He gestured at the box. “Smells…” He cocked his head. “Sharp? And stale at the same time.”

“Not good?” she asked.

“Not great,” he admitted. “And it’s been in storage all year long, so it smells dusty too. But it’s fine; everywhere smells like this right now, with all the fake pine needles or whatever they use to make this stuff.” He seemed to think he was complaining too much because he quickly added, “It all gets balanced out by the candles, anyway.”

“The smoke doesn’t bother you?”

He shook his head. “I’m Catholic. I’d probably be excommunicated if I couldn’t handle smoke.”

“Stubborn,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed casually, “or I’m just a contrary son of a—” His eyes widened. “A hamster.”

She burst out laughing. She wouldn’t be surprised if he honestly didn’t remember how she’d cursed in front of him, given the state he’d been in at the time. Regardless, she appreciated his effort. “Help me decorate, if you’re not too busy being contrary.”

He rushed to comply, accepting the lights she was handing him and darting to the other side of the room to string them up.

For several minutes, they worked in relative silence, except for Frank in the corner. She had no idea what things Matthew was listening to; he moved almost without sound, but she snuck glances at him when she was confident he wouldn’t notice, wondering if he had any idea how proud she was.

Eventually, as she was stretching up on her toes to hang another garland, he came up behind her and reached over her head, effortlessly securing it to the wall.

She fell back onto her heels.  “Now you’re just showing off.”

“I’m just thankful I’m not shorter, given how small you are.”

She flicked him with a strip of fake evergreen needles that had fallen off. “At least you have a better eye for decoration than your father did. He either made everything look completely uniform or completely sporadic.”

“A better eye,” he repeated dryly.

She turned back to the box of decorations, rooting through it for something gold—the place needed warmer colors—when he spoke again.

“What was Christmas like for you? With Dad?”

Her heart skipped as she looked askance at him. He’d asked it casually, but the line of his shoulders was too stiff for it to be a throwaway question. She wondered how long he’d been trying to find the right way to ask. “We had four Christmases together,” she answered nonchalantly. “They were the four best Christmases I’ve ever had.”

His chin lifted a little. “Yeah?”

“We lived the cliché, Matthew. We didn’t have much, but we had all we needed. And eventually, we had you.” She searched his face. Any mention of his infancy reminded them both that their relationship hadn’t actually begun when Paul had brought him to the church, nor even when he’d been brought under her care as a boy. They were rebuilding something that already had a foundation. And the foundation was broken.

But the reminder didn’t seem to hurt him as much as it hurt her. He wore his heart on his sleeve, sometimes painfully so, and it was all the easier for her to read his heart aided by what she remembered of Jack. In this moment, he looked merely open. Perhaps thoughtful.

She set the box of decorations aside for now. “When it was just Jack and me, we had…we had so much _fun_ together, and that sounds like such a trite word, but it’s the best one I can think of. He made everything a delight. You remember?”

A smile. “I remember.”

“Christmas was no exception. We couldn’t afford to spend money on surprises for each other. Our gifts always had to meet some need of ours, and we were both well aware of everything we needed. So we found other ways to make the season special.” She paused; he’d started hanging up garlands again, but now his face was turned away, and she couldn’t tell if he’d resumed his task merely because he would rather do something than stand still (they had that in common) or to hide himself. So she walked away to sit on the bed, because she couldn’t help with the garlands as much as he could and because, if he did want to shield himself, the least she could do was give him space.

The bed was also comforting, but that was not the reason she’d returned to it. “Every Christmas morning, we made each other breakfast in bed.”

He laughed. “Didn’t realize that was a mutual activity. Doesn’t one of you have to make it for the other?”

“We’d make each other food side by side and eat it in bed.”

“Got it.” He moved to hang a new wreath, carelessly balancing on the precarious ladder.

“Each day, on Christmas, he’d take me walking somewhere, just the two of us. It was cold, but he was warm, so I didn’t mind. He’d find a new place every year. He told me once that he’d prowl through the whole city trying to find the perfect spot.” She rubbed her hand over the comforter. “One year, he found a gazebo in a gated senior living community somewhere. He had to climb over the fence and pick the lock to let me in.” She shot a glance at him, her lawyer son. “I probably shouldn’t have found that as romantic as I did.”

Matthew’s laugh was soft. “That sounds like him.” He stepped back from the last wreath as if surveying his work, which actually looked lovely and not at all as if it had been hung by someone without sight.  He rubbed the back of his neck. “And, uh…you only had the one Christmas with me. Right?”

“Just the one, yes.” Having to confirm that out loud was a new layer to her penance. “It was before I…it was before things reached the worst for me.” She hesitated, wondering if it would do more harm than good to admit this next part. But his head cocked in her direction because, somehow, he’d picked up on that very hesitancy. To stay silent now would be to keep a secret.

Some secrets were worth keeping. But here, in this garland-strewn basement where he had let her help him when he was most vulnerable, and now, when he was finally giving voice to a desire to know more about his childhood, a desire that must have been festering since he found out the truth about her…she couldn’t deny him this part of herself.

She folded her hands in her lap. “God must have known what I would do, Matthew. The choices I would make. He must have known how I would hurt you and Jack. And yet, for whatever reason, He saw fit to give me one brief moment of peace.”

He leaned against a pillar, eyebrows drawing together. “Peace?”

“Postpartum depression struck me almost as soon as you were born. I had very little time to…to enjoy being a mother. To enjoy you.” Out of necessity, she’d mostly forgiven herself for that by this point. Looking at him now, however, and realizing she’d allowed so many years of his life to slip out of her grasp, remembering how it had felt to be failing at this precious calling…the shame was back. She fought to keep her voice steady. “Almost immediately, I realized that I didn’t trust myself to take care of you. I didn’t have enough clarity of thought to make a plan to leave, but I quickly knew that something would have to change. It was terrifying and I preferred not to think about it. But the fear lingered. Except for those couple of days.”

Three. She’d gotten three days.

She closed her eyes. “God gave me three or four days of peace for our first Christmas with you. Jack and I made each other breakfast in bed like we always did, but it was too cold to take you outside, so we walked every inch of our small house, holding you, and pretended we were somewhere else. And you were perfect, Matthew. You were so wonderful.” Her throat closed up as soon as she said it, but that was fine. She’d said the important things.

There was motion on the bed, the mattress shifting as he sat down beside her. Silent as always. But the warmth in the hand that slowly untangled hers, so he could hold one of hers between both of his, reminded her of Jack.

Matthew’s shoulders moved as he prepared to say something. “You, uh…I guess you’ll be pretty busy here at the church on Christmas, right? And Christmas Eve?”

“Pretty busy,” she agreed noncommittally. “Are you coming to mass?”

“I’ll be there. But maybe you…I mean, if you wanted to, maybe we…we could do something else, too. The weekend after, maybe. Or…before?”

She risked a glance at him. His unseeing eyes were wider than normal. Hopeful. “That sounds nice. What would you like to do?”

He ducked his head. “Well. I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“I could come to your place,” she suggested tentatively. She hadn’t been there except to heal him—or to refresh the rooms after she’d learned what he’d tried to do to himself. Perhaps visiting casually would be crossing a line, a line they’d so far maintained strictly. She still wasn’t sure which one of them had drawn it.

When he glanced up again, his expression was wistful and she realized what a gift it was that he was allowing her to see it. “What, uh…what would you want to do there?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Bake something. Listen to music. Play with Frank.”

The dog perked her ears upon hearing her name.

“Honestly, I don’t really care _what_ we do,” she told him, just in case he was missing the point. “I just want to spend the holiday with you.”


	2. Seek Out the Lonely

Stone

There were precious few things from his old life that he missed. National holidays were not one of them and Christmas was no exception.

That was not to say, however, that he was impervious to the memories. It probably wouldn’t be such a distraction except that Christmas tended to look, sound, and smell more or less the same, year after year, making the memories impossible to ignore.

No, not impossible, surely. Stick must have managed it just fine. But he’d moved on from Stone before Stone could gather up the courage to ask.

_Just a question, Stick, but how do you keep the memories from tearing you apart year after year?_

Stone would likely have needed another ten years to figure out how to ask that.

Meditation didn’t work. Drinking made things worse. Stone expected that a fight would suffice, a fight that provided an actual threat to his life, enough to cause the adrenaline to surge, enough to ground his senses firmly in the present. But with the Hand scattered, Stone had no easy access to such a fight.

The thought occurred that he might track down the Devil. It wouldn’t be too hard to actually pick a fight; all he had to do was poke through Miss Page’s apartment, or the home of his lawyer friend, or the room of the little girl. Then again, such a move would carve the Devil out of Stone’s life as surely as if Miss Page saw fit to share what she’d discovered.

There was another option. He could track down the Devil and simply ask for a fight. The stakes would be lower, but if Stone didn’t use knives, he’d probably lose, and losing tended to focus the mind.

But if he asked for a fight, he would have to explain why.

Besides, the Devil had a semi-regular life. He was probably occupied with trivial things like shopping for gifts or falling in love.

Which left Stone to his memories. Finally, he caved and acquired alcohol. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well not remember it on December twenty-sixth.

Giovanni’s hair never stayed flat. It seemed like an odd detail to remember. But it had bothered Stone once, having a little brother in such who always looked so disheveled when Stone was trying so hard to give them a normal life. It also gave Giovanni the constant look of someone surprised by the world, which was accurate. Giovanni’s life hadn’t been normal even before Stick entered the picture, and he’d seemed to recognize it. He was too wise for someone so small and young.

Stone used to buy Giovanni Hot Wheels and army men, but he’d let him open the presents before Christmas Day. They preferred to reserve the holiday itself for setting up a massive campaign, one stretching through the entire house. Setting up ambushes at choke points, establishing supply drop zones on the tables and counters and anywhere else high up. The Hot Wheels, classified by color and size, were turned into machines of war. Giovanni’s favorites were any with the fire decals, because naturally those came equipped with flamethrowers.

They grew out of all their other games first, while this one was complicated enough to keep them entertained. It pitted their minds against each other, inviting infinite strategies to explore. They didn’t grow out of it even as they grew older. Stone was seventeen when Stick finally allowed Stone to travel with him, live with him, fight alongside him. Stone had still played one last round with his little brother before he left.

Of course, it was foolish to think they wouldn’t have one day grown out of the Hot Wheels, probably within the next year or so. But Stone would never know for sure.

 

Foggy

It was Matt’s idea to bring Frank to Everett’s, which meant that while he held the leash and his cane, Foggy had to carry three presents for Ella. Matt’s was the heaviest and he was a ninja, so by all rights, he should be the one tasked with carrying the presents. But he was weirdly possessive over his dog.

“You don’t even like her, Foggy.”

“Doesn’t mean I’d let her get run over by a bus.”

“Overruled.”

“You can’t just overrule me,” Foggy spluttered.

But Matt could. And he did. He also tightened his grip on Frank’s leash when they arrived at the porch outside of Everett’s. “Incoming,” he warned.

About thirty seconds later, Ella burst out the door and ran straight for the labradoodle, wrapping her arms around the puppy’s neck and receiving an excessive amount of licking in return. “You brought Frank!”

“We’ve been upstaged,” Foggy whispered.

“Maybe you have,” Matt whispered back, “but she’s my dog.”

Sure enough, Ella gave Frank a final squeeze before throwing herself at Matt’s legs. “Thank you for bringing her!” she yelled. “I love her!”

Foggy moaned at the injustice in the world, and resigned himself to spending the next ten minutes standing in the cold while Ella played with Frank in the snow. With the front gates locked, Frank was free to run off-leash, although she was so small and there was so much snow that she wasn’t exactly running. More like bounding. Like a bunny, though he thought Matt wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. At least Matt was decent enough to hold his and Karen’s presents. Still. Foggy wanted to go inside, and he didn’t want to get in trouble when Ella caught pneumonia.

“She’s fine, Foggy,” Matt was saying.

“I know _you_ think you’re a walking thermometer, but she’s dripping with snow.”

“Is she cute?”

“You even have to ask. You do realize they won’t allow your dog inside. She’s soaked.”

“I’ll just carry her. She’s probably exhausted by now anyway.” He clicked his tongue and Frank altered course to flounder through the snow to join him, Ella tagging along. Matt expertly cradled Frank with one arm, slipped the strap of his cane over his other wrist, and held his and Karen’s presents under his other arm. Foggy was annoyed that he hadn’t come up with this arrangement previously.

“I love Frank,” Ella informed them both, unnecessarily. Only then did her eyes land on the presents. “What are those?”

“For you.” Foggy held out his and duly did not feel slighted that she’d been too distracted by the dog to notice what he’d been holding. “This one’s from me.”

Her face lit up, but she lowered her gaze. “You didn’t have to,” she said shyly.

“We wanted to, pumpkin.” Foggy held out the thin package. “Merry Christmas, Ella.”

She unwrapped it with surprising care, almost delicately. When she finally removed all the wrapping paper, she flipped over the picture and her face split into a wide, shining smile. “Foggy, I love it!” She clutched it to her chest. “It’s perfect!”

“I know,” Foggy said airily. “You’re welcome.”

Matt tilted his head. “What is it?”

“Show him, Ella.”

She pushed the picture into Matt’s hands.

Foggy laughed. “I mean, describe it to him.”

She blushed. “Sorry, Matt. It’s not a painting picture, it’s a picture-picture, so I guess you can’t see it, huh? Sorry.”

He was grinning. “It’s fine, Ella. What is it?”

“It’s, um.” Her voice turned shy again. “It’s us. You and me. From my birthday party, remember? I’m on your shoulders. We’re smiling.”

Matt’s mouth sort of fell open. “Wait, really?” He turned his head towards Foggy. “You got her a picture of us?”

“Framed and everything, buddy.”

Matt blinked, looking equal parts stunned and as if he was on the verge of feeling some kind of _emotion_ , and Foggy figured he’d rather not feel too much _emotion_ right now, so he nudged his best friend’s shoulder. “Ask Ella what you’re wearing.”

“I know what I was wearing,” he said dismissively. “A work suit.”

“Ella, tell him what color his tie is.”

Ella giggled. “It looks really ugly.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I was wearing the striped one, right? The, uh, red and white one. I think?”

“Nope!” She giggled again. “It’s, like, bright orange and yellow.”

“What.”

Foggy shrugged, like _what can you do_. “You must’ve gotten your labels mixed up again, buddy. That’s rough. I can help you sort through them if you—”

Matt stomped on his foot, which shouldn’t hurt that much except that Matt was a ninja and knew how to use the heel of his foot to grind at least half of his weight onto Foggy’s toes. Foggy yelped.

“Can I try?” Ella asked, lifting her foot with wicked eyes set on her target.

“No,” Matt and Foggy said at the same time. Foggy wiped his watering eyes and limped a few steps away from both of them, the violent hooligans.

Ella scowled for a moment before holding the picture to her chest again. “I’m gonna go show my new mom!” She whirled around to race off.

“Your _what_?” Foggy squawked.

“Ohhhhhhh,” she said, skidding to a stop. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Tell us what, exactly?”

“They, um…they found parents for me.”

Foggy stared at her, willing himself to see the same Ella he’d always known. Instead, he was picturing her surrounded by a loud, boisterous family like his, with an excessive amount of cousins to play with. “When did that happen?”

“Couple days ago,” she said guiltily. “Mr. Burnham wanted to tell you and give you a card for—” She clapped her hands to her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to say that either.”

“It’s okay,” Foggy said automatically, without thinking that maybe he shouldn’t undermine Burnham’s policy on surprises like that. “I’m just…wow. That’s amazing, Ella.” He glanced at Matt, whose face was doing something complicated that proved that Foggy’s efforts to shield him from feelings were now rendered futile.

Her eyes flicked between them. “Do you wanna meet my new parents? They’re with Miss Alice right now.” She frowned. “But then Mr. Burnham will know that I gave away the secret.”

“Probably better to let us meet them, pumpkin,” Foggy suggested. Better not to enable dishonesty.

She pursed her lips, as if weighing the merits of getting in trouble against getting to introduce Foggy and Matt to her adoptive parents. Eventually, she spun around, about to lead the way.

But Matt reached out, unerringly catching her wrist. “Wait, Ella. Don’t you want to see what I got you?”

Foggy wished Matt could see the way her eyes lit up as she turned all her attention onto him.

He held out his box. “I now it’s not much,” he started to say, and Foggy elbowed him in the ribs, which probably didn’t bother him at all, but Matt graciously rubbed the spot anyway.

Ignoring their display, Ella accepted his box and unwrapped it to reveal some kind of kit. She flipped it over to look at the back. “Putty?”

“You can use it to make things.” Matt fidgeted with the strap of his cane for a moment. “Three-dimensional things.”

“I love it!” she shouted, and dropped it oxymoronically on the floor before flinging herself at Matt, who crouched to catch her.

It was kind of unfair that Matt had gotten two hugs over the course of their visit. Then again, something had clearly shifted in the days after her father’s death. It didn’t take too much thinking to put it together: Matt and Ella now had yet another broken thing in common, his eyes closing as he whispered something in her ear.

So Foggy didn’t take offense. The more they could comfort each other, the better. In the meantime, it was Foggy’s responsibility to remain strong, to not let his life fall apart unless absolutely necessary, because it was becoming painfully clear that Matt and Ella both balanced on the edge of disaster at any given moment.

And he’d be thankful, with all the sincerity he possessed, for his relatively stable life. He’d be untempered in his appreciation of his own history, just because they couldn’t feel the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the day off and I'm listening to Christmas music, and I'm really curious to know what y'all think of Stone, so I'm just gonna...double-update real quick.


	3. Go Light Your World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is sickeningly sentimental.

Foggy

“Merry Christmas, Foggy Bear.”

He set the wrapping paper in a pile—his dad had been strict about not leaving it scattered everywhere, and he couldn’t shake the habit years later—and rolled his eyes at Marci. “A bear? Really?”

“Oh, let me be cheesy once a year. But don’t tell anyone, or it’ll ruin my reputation.”

He withdrew the bear from the box. It was dark brown with deep-set blue eyes and an ugly green Christmas hat. “Well, now my present to you just looks tacky in comparison to this.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she said lightly.

Grinning, he handed her his much larger box. “Go on.”

“It’s light,” she remarked, giving it a little shake and listening to the rattle inside.

He grabbed her arm. “Don’t shake it!”

She arched a perfect eyebrow. “Well.” She drew one manicured nail along a seam in the wrapping, splitting the paper so she could peel it apart, opening the box to reveal another wrapped box. She rolled her eyes at him and opened it to find yet another box. Now she deliberately tossed the excess wrapping paper across the room, far from his neat pile. “A box in a box? You’re an infant.”

“Yeah,” he agreed blissfully.

She had to go through two more boxes before she found the one with a velvet covering. As soon as she pulled it out, Foggy took his cue and slid off the couch to kneel among the discarded wrapping paper.

Her eyes flew wide. “Foggy…”

“C’mon,” he said softly. “This was the only time I was gonna be able to get you something without you being immediately suspicious, since I’m supposed to get you something anyway.”

Aiming her eyes upwards, she blinked quickly lest her mascara run. “I get you a stupid bear, and you get me a ring.”

“It might not be a ring,” he pointed out. “You haven’t opened it yet. It could be movie tickets.”

Her laugh rang out and she held out the box. “You’re supposed to do it.”

“Never thought you’d be such a traditionalist.” Watching her tuck her hair behind her ears and set her shoulders back, he accepted the box and took a breath. Then he popped open the box. “Marci Stahl, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. And I want everyone who looks at you to know exactly how incredible I think you are. So. Will you take this ring? And will you marry me?”

“I’ll do both.” She took the ring, slipped it on, and held his face between his hands to kiss him. He was just loosing himself to the sensation when she pulled back. “I’ve missed you, Foggy Bear.”

Bemused, he smiled. “I’ve been right here.”

“But not really.”

“What…?”

She shot him a slightly displeased look. “You haven’t been yourself since Matt disappeared. Not since Midland Circle collapsed.”

“They’re not connected,” he blurted out.

Her wonderfully green eyes told him clearly that she didn’t believe him. She’d never believed the weak lies he scrounged up to protect Matt, but she’d never asked him to explain himself either. Sometimes he wished she would, wished she’d push, just so he could feel a bit less guilty if he told her the truth. Matt knew how tenacious Marci was; it was the perfect excuse for spilling his secret.

But Marci didn’t push.

So he kept lying to the woman he loved.

“Anyway.” She pushed him back against the couch and slid into his lap. “It’s good to have you back.”

He thought about Wilson Fisk being locked up…but still breathing. He thought about Matt’s fluffy dog. He thought about little Ella, finally free from the instability of litigation and able to focus on introducing herself to a brand new family. He thought about Nelson, Murdock, and Page. “It’s good to be back.” And he drew her closer for a deeper kiss.

 

Karen

She stopped dead in the doorway to remember how to breathe.

“Karen? Are you okay?”

He’d been so shy, asking her to come to Christmas mass with him. She hadn’t seen him quite like that before and of course she’d instantly agreed. But now she was standing at the threshold, frozen. It was Christmas morning and the church was flooded in red and she couldn’t…she couldn’t do it.

“What’s wrong?”

No, no, no. There were so many people here, innocent people, more than there’d been last time because of course, it was Christmas, and this was when everyone showed up because they were forced by a mother-in-law or because it was a way to hold onto some memory from childhood or…there were just so many people, and there were only three exits.

Matt’s grip on her arm tightened and he pulled her back, backwards, out of the entryway to the church and into a shock of colder air on the sidewalk, muttering “Excuse us, sorry” as he maneuvered her against the incoming tide of churchgoers. He directed her off the path into the snow where they rounded a corner and she could back up against the wall while he stood in front of her, between her and the rest of the world.

She sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I’m okay. I just panicked. It’s stupid, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said softly. He gave her time to take a few more quick breaths. “What was it?”

“I, um…it’s just this place, I think? But I didn’t have a problem at Father Lantom’s funeral, I don’t…it’s just…it was so _red_.”

His head tilted. “Red?”

She tried not to shiver. “I don’t know. The lights were all red for that special service Father Lantom held when…when Dex was there, and you found me, and now they’re red again and I guess I just…I’m okay.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her long coat. “We can go back in now.”

“We don’t have to.”

“I don’t want you to miss the service, Matt. Really, I’m…I’m fine.”

His glasses glinted in the sunlight. “Let me take you home.”

“No, come on.” She pushed off the wall, took two steps back towards the path leading to the entryway, and ran straight into Matt’s unyielding frame.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She was shuddering, but that was just from nerves, and it was fading already. Or so she told herself.  “The sun’s shining. It’s nice.”

He gave a small nod. “Compromise, then.” With that, he took her hand again—firmly, so she couldn’t pull away—and drew both of them to the wall. “You’re not wearing heels, right?”

“Um, no.”

“Good.” He leaned his back to the wall, bending one leg to prop his heel against it. “I can tell you what’s happening inside. Right now, for instance, they’re singing.”

“Thank you for informing me, Matt. Really.” She could easily hear the voices, the familiar hymn.

 

_Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay_

_Close by me forever and love me, I pray._

_Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care_

_And take us to Heaven to live with Thee there._

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she whispered.

He shed his jacket. “It’s actually nicer out here. No little old ladies feeling bad for me.” He gestured to his glasses. “And besides.” He slipped his arm around her, bundling her in his jacket. “I get to hold you without those same old ladies judging us for it.”

She wondered how loud her pulse was, beating in his ear. She could feel his, because his throat was against the cold tip of her ear as he set his chin on the top of her head. His heartbeat, slow and steady, was unafraid.

And now, she was too.

 

Matt

By the end of the service, it was like she’d forgotten she’d ever panicked. He couldn’t help but admire how quickly she bounced back from whatever life threw at her. It had always been true of her, really. From when he first met her, she’d surprised him with her sheer resilience.

Now it was late evening and she was in one of his sweaters, her scent mixing with his to form one of his favorite combinations of aromas. She was also kind of wrapped around him, her fingers soft as they brushed through his hair, which was definitely one of his favorite sensations. They were also kissing, which was by far one of his favorite activities.

Until Frank jumped onto the couch, forcing her way between them to lick his face.

He pushed the dog off. She wasn’t allowed on the couch, but he couldn’t figure out if she genuinely didn’t realize she was being disobedient or if she recognized the rule and simply didn’t care.

“Sorry,” he told Karen, catching her chin and angling her towards him again.

To his surprise, she wriggled away. “Ugh, no, Matt. I’m not kissing you after your dog slobbered your face.”

Stupid dog.

“One sec, then.” He started to get up to wash his face, but she pulled on the hem of his shirt.

“Or you could talk to me,” she said.

“I kinda liked that other thing we were doing, actually—”

“Talk to me, Matt.”

He fell back onto the couch with a sigh. “What about?”

“Christmas, of course. What was it like for you, growing up?”

He blinked as he was presented with one of those rare visual memories. A blur of colored lights, a tree, a flash of his dad’s smile. Then it was gone. “I remember…I remember sitting up late with my dad, watching those stupid Christmas movies. I thought they were a waste of time, but he liked them. I think…I think, now, that maybe he used to watch them with his parents, probably.” He dangled his other hand over the arm of the couch, scratching Frank’s ears as she settled, disgruntled, on the floor. “I wish I’d been less grumpy about it.”

“You, grumpy? Perish the thought.”

“What about you?” he deflected. “Favorite Christmas tradition?”

A heaviness settled over her and he instantly felt guilty for making her think about her past, although it was arguably her fault for bringing up the question in the first place. “You know what?” she said. “Maybe we should focus on new traditions.”

His fingers squeezed hers. “We could…go for a walk.”

She snuggled in closer. “But it’s so cozy here.”

That was a powerful argument she presented. “But consider this: it’ll feel that much cozier when we come back.”

“Yeah, because we’ll be frozen.”

“Please?”

“ _Ugh_.” She sat up. “I’m gonna complain the entire time.”

He grinned. “Okay.”

That was how, ten minutes later, they ended up hand-in-hand walking the snowy streets of Hell’s Kitchen, buried under jackets and scarves and hats. They’d left Frank behind, much to Matt’s delight, as it allowed him to focus entirely on the woman beside him. It had started snowing again. He could feel the condensation gathering on his glasses. But it was late, and probably getting dark, and no one else was out. He slipped them off and tucked them into a pocket.

“What’s it like for you?” she asked suddenly. “The snow.”

“Well,” he began seriously, “it’s cold.”

She bumped her shoulder into him. “So will you be, if I push you into that pile of it over there.”

“Hey, easy, easy.” He bumped her back. “It’s…weird. It makes all these soft sounds as it lands everywhere, which would be helpful if it were wetter, like rain. But it’s too quiet to echo very much, so it just kind of…distracts. And, of course, it muffles everything else. It’s harder to smell things, too. Lower temperatures inhibit the volatility of scents.”

“I’m sorry,” she snorted. “Volatility?”

“It’s, uh, it’s when the scent molecules are airborne, so we can smell them. I looked into it once.”

“So what I’m getting from this is, you hate everything about snow. Remind me again why we’re out walking in it.”

He untwined their fingers so he could put his arm around her, pulling her in a little closer. “I just thought it would be nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the inspiration, Eccho!
> 
> Work and chapter titles from "Go Light Your World" by Chris Rice.


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